But now she was being pulled back to her past, a past that barely seemed real, barely seemed her own. It was the old world of her parents, an Irish ex-priest and his Italian Catholic wife, well-meaning but perhaps not particularly well-grounded.
Liv looked towards the open front door of the house once more, and she could see her red Mustang still waiting there, glowing eerily in the twilight. To her left stood the Sheikh, and she could almost see the choice laid out before her, clear as day.
Possession begins and ends with a choice, her father had told her during one of those long evenings alone with her parents. A demon cannot enter a person unless invited, unless she makes a choice that grants the demon entry.
And a demon only leaves when the possessed makes the choice to expel it, her mother had added. As exorcists, it is our duty to help them make that choice, to choose the light over the darkness, to reach for the divine and expel the evil.
What about the exorcist? Liv had asked. What choice does she make?
The choice to put herself between the demon and the human long enough to allow the victim to find the divine in himself, Candice had replied. It’s a selfless choice. A compassionate choice. A dangerous choice.
But most of all, James had said, putting his arm around his wife and taking a breath, it is a choice born of love.
Liv had seen something strange pass between her mother and her father during that exchange of words, and it had sent a chill through her. She got the sense there was something they weren’t telling her, something they’d never tell her, something about their past that had brought them together, something perhaps more than a simple boy-meets-girl romance. She’d thought to ask, but she never did. And then it was too late.
Again Liv looked left at the Sheikh and then back at her car. She could walk right out that open door. Hell, she should walk right out. She barely knew this man. She owed him nothing. Perhaps he was some religious nutcase who believed he was possessed. He already had some crazy ideas, didn’t he? Add to that the money, the sheltered life he must have led as a prince of some Arabian country . . . it was a recipe for kookiness.
Still, she thought as she remembered how her parents had told her time and time again how the victims of possession seemed strangely led to precisely the people who could free them from the grip of their demon . . . how strange is it that of all the people in the world, the two of us end up here under these circumstances? I can wave off the past as much as I want, but I’ve seen things I can’t explain, watched my parents do things that don’t make sense in any other context, listened to them tell me that although they didn’t expect me to dedicate my life to chasing away demons, they wanted me to be prepared because someday, somewhere, someone would need my help.
A cool breeze wafted its way in through that open door, and as Liv finally turned away from it and back towards the Sheikh, a chill ran through her when she saw him smile in a way that reminded her of smiles she’d seen in that garage twenty years ago. She thought of the way those men and women had alternated between screaming obscenities and threats and then dropped their voices down to soothing whispers—coaxing, cajoling, reminding her parents that they were sinners too, that they’d done things too.
“Why did he say that?” Liv had asked her mother once when a possessed man had sneered at Candice, telling her he knew that she’d had impure thoughts about another man on her wedding night itself.
Candice had turned red, and she’d closed her eyes and muttered a prayer before glancing at her husband and then turning to the fourteen-year-old Liv. “Because it’s true, and I’ve carried the guilt of it for years. I told you that guilt is like a doorway for a demon, clear and wide open unless you face it, accept it, and let it go.”
So am I in danger here, Liv wondered as she glanced at the Sheikh, shuddering at the way he was smiling at her, as if he was waiting for her to make her choice, to choose to stay on this side of the door, to engage with him and whatever was inside him.
Of course I am, she told herself. Just like my parents were in danger each and every time they stepped into the room with someone they were trying to help. But this man has somehow found his way to me, and I can’t turn my back on him. There’s a reason my parents taught me what they knew, explained what they believed, trusted me with their secret. There’s a reason, and perhaps this man is it.
Liv nodded silently, and as she smiled back at the Sheikh, wondering if she was looking at him or whether the demon had already taken him over, that door slowly closed on its own, gentle as the breeze, silent as the approaching night.
12
Sheikh Hakeem made a fist and released it, looking down at his thick forearm and wondering what was happening inside him. A part of him wondered if he was going insane, if those supplements he’d been taking had eroded his brain, made him believe things that didn’t make any sense—at least not in the modern world. They would make perfect sense to an Arab cleric from the 1500s—but this wasn’t the 1500s, and he was as far from a cleric as a man could be.
“You are still here,” he said, curling his fist again and glancing over at Liv. “Why? Did my words not make you want to run?”
“Hell yeah, they did,” she said, forcing a smile and taking a tentative step toward him. “But I don’t think I’ll get a full refund for my car, and I love my Christian Louboutins, so no way in hell I’m returning those!”
The Sheikh laughed. “So you are willing to do battle with a demon for the sake of your shoes?”
“Absolutely. Bring it, devil boy!”
Hakeem shook his head and smiled, folding his arms over his broad chest and exhaling slowly. His smile faded, and he turned to Liv. “Do you think I am insane?” he asked quietly.
Liv blinked. Then she shrugged. “There was this one time, when I was twelve or thirteen: A woman came to the house. She was well put together, not a hair out of place, clear blue eyes, smooth skin. She calmly sat with my parents in the living room and explained that she was possessed by a demon, and although she’d accepted it for years and even enjoyed the benefits of what it added to her life, she now wanted it gone. It was a perfectly normal conversation over tea, and when it was over, my parents set up an appointment for the exorcism, she thanked them, shook their hands, and then left. So no, I don’t necessarily think you’re insane or delusional. It’s a misconception that possessed people are raging axe-murderers who are running around snapping people’s necks and eating their still-beating hearts. My parents told me that the majority of possessed people never get violent—at least not until you try to expel the demon—and mostly not even then.”
The Sheikh blinked as he felt a momentary tension rack his body, but he inhaled deep and nodded. “That is similar to what my mother told me as well. Except for the last part—the bit about expelling the demon. We never talked about that.”
Liv frowned. “Your mother?”
The Sheikh nodded, and he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He frowned, blinking and staring down at his hands as he tried once again to tell Liv about his mother, about how she’d told him about a spirit that had been giving her power for years, about how that spirit lived within her prince of a son too, would grow with him, give him powers that he would find useful when he became Sheikh and supreme ruler of Ramaan. But the words wouldn’t come, and he just blinked and stared at Liv like a child, confused and helpless.
“Hakeem?” she said, cocking her head and looking at him. “Are you all right?”
Suddenly the Sheikh stood, turning his back to Liv, that tension invading his body as he felt the skin on his face go smooth. “I have changed my mind. Leave now. Do not worry about lawyers or refunds. You have my word. Leave now, and you will never hear from me again. Go.”
Hakeem stood still as a statue, his eyes wide open as he felt a strange split within himself. For the first time he could clearly feel the separation between what he knew was himself
and what was not. It scared him, terrified him, made him want to turn around and beg this woman for help. But then suddenly he felt the cold confidence of its presence take over like it had for so many years, perhaps his entire life, and he smiled and waited for her to leave.
Instead he heard her take a step towards him, and he could smell her feminine scent in the stillness of the empty room as she came close and touched him on the shoulder. Her touch sent a blast of heat through his cold interior, and he took a gasping breath as he turned to face her.
“That woman never came back for her appointment,” Liv said softly. “I asked my parents if they were going to track her down, but they said no. They said they were powerless to help without that woman’s choice to be helped.” She took a deep breath and shook her head. “I think my parents made a mistake there. They should have tracked her down, helped her make that choice again, helped her follow through on the choice she’d once made. The choice that they’d made to help her.”
The Sheikh felt his body seize up in a rush of energy that felt almost violent, it was so sudden. A sudden image came to him of himself pouncing on her like a beast, ripping her clothes off as she screamed, ravaging her as she struggled. He blinked in confusion, a feeling of dread rising along with that searing image . . . dread because he wasn’t sure which part of himself was thinking that, which part wanted that, which part was going to do that.
“You need to be very careful,” he said slowly as he turned to face her. “Very careful what choice you make here.” Again he could feel that separation within himself in a way he’d never felt before. Was it this woman bringing that about, separating the demon from the man where they’d been one and the same before?
“I’m staying,” she said firmly even though he could tell it took effort, that she was scared.
The Sheikh felt something move inside him, and suddenly that separation he’d felt earlier was gone. It was as if the demon inside him had retreated, taken a step back. Not because it was threatened, but because it was . . . satisfied?
It took a moment for Hakeem to understand what was happening, but then it hit him when he looked into her eyes, gazed on her pretty round face, took in the sight of her curves in that black top and blue jeans, red designer shoes for which she was willing to battle Satan and his minions.
Ya Allah, he thought. The demon wants her here, just like I do! I was not led to her by my desire to be helped, to be freed. I was led here by what lives inside me. By the demon. It wants something from her. It wants her!
And so do I, came the thought, and the Sheikh wasn’t sure where the thought came from, the man or the beast. Then his mind swirled as he wondered if there was any difference between man and beast, if the man was the beast.
“I’m choosing to stay,” she said again, walking slowly towards him, her hips swaying as she smiled wide, fluttered her eyelids, pursed her lips. “And you know why, don’t you?”
The Sheikh almost choked as he felt an otherworldly desire rise up in him even as he noticed the outline of her nipples pushing through her black top, the scent of her need rising up to him through the stillness of the room. It took another moment for him to understand what was happening, and when he did, he saw in her brown eyes that she understood too: understood in a way that terrified her even as it exhilarated her.
“You are just like me,” he whispered, his cock stiffening in his fitted trousers, every muscle in his body flexing as he took a step towards her, the realization dawning in a way that took his breath away. “It lives inside you too. One of them. One of . . . us.”
And then he was on her, crashing into her so hard she screamed as he pushed her against the wall. He grabbed a fistful of her thick brown hair, pulled her head back, gazed deep into her eyes as he saw the truth, that they were two of the same, both of them living with beasts within, drawn together by some unknown force, a force that he wasn’t sure was driven by the desire to be free of their demons or to commit to them fully.
He heard himself snarl like an animal as he studied her face, felt her warm breath against his cheek, smelled her feminine scent come to him so clear he thought he might rip her apart, his need was so strong.
But he could also feel her need matching his, her eyes wide but focused, her beautiful lips curled in a half smile that he knew was the beast within her coming alive to match the demon in him. This was dangerous. This was deadly. This was . . . happening.
So without another thought, giving in to the needs of both man and beast, the Sheikh tightened his grip on her hair, pulled her head back, and he kissed her. By God, he kissed her.
13
Her life flashed before her eyes as his lips smothered hers, and in that flash she understood all of it, understood it in a way that almost broke her. She saw the moment the demon had entered her, understood how insidious and silent that entry had been, evading even her parents’ watchful gaze. It had happened during one of the exorcisms, when the possessed woman had looked into Liv’s young eyes, a strange mix of pleading and persuasion in her gaze. She’d felt herself open up, nod silently, accept the demon into her to free the woman of it. It had happened almost unconsciously, like she understood that she needed to take on the burden of someone weaker than her, to fight for someone unable to fight for herself.
“Hakeem,” she gasped, breaking from his kiss and blinking in shock at what was happening both inside her and around her. “What . . . what’s . . .”
But then he kissed her again, and she kissed him back, feeling his tongue slide into her mouth just like that demon had slid into her soul so many years ago. Had her parents known? Had she even known? Was she imagining it? Was she being possessed by his demon? Right now, right here, in this old house that had landed in her lap from some unknown seller, bought by this man who seemed linked to her in a way that both terrified and aroused her?
She could feel their tongues intertwined like two snakes in the Garden of Eden, and she smiled even as she opened her mouth wide and welcomed his warm kiss. She laughed as she felt him pull her hair so hard the pain was almost surreal, his body grinding her against the wall, all his tremendous weight pressed on her as he rubbed his massive hardness against her crotch, growling as he licked her face like an animal.
“You are just like me,” he grunted, pulling back just far enough to rip her blouse open from the front, tear it off her shoulders, lift her bra up over her boobs and push his face between her globes.
Liv moaned out loud, gasping as she felt his stubble against the tender skin of her breasts. Then his mouth was on her right nipple, sucking and biting her red peaks which felt so stiff and big she couldn’t believe it was real. His hands were already down the front of her pants, pulling open her jeans, fingers rubbing her mound roughly, thumb pressing against her clit as he managed to get her jeans down past her wide hips even as he sucked on her boobs so hard she screamed.
A moment later his face was between her legs, and he’d grabbed her left thigh and raised her leg over his shoulder, pulling aside her soaked panties so he could drive his tongue deep into her cunt. She howled in ecstasy as her orgasm came suddenly, roaring in like a wave crashing against the shore on a moonless night, dark and without warning.
“Oh, fuck!” she sobbed, tears bursting through as she tried to understand what was happening, tried to fight her fear that she was giving in to something dark that had lived silently inside her for years, that was joining with the darkness that lived within the Sheikh.
“Yes!” he growled from between her legs, and now her jeans were all the way off, tossed across the empty room, her panties ripped and hanging in shreds from her waist as he hungrily ate her out like he was trying to consume her. “You taste so bloody good. I cannot have enough.”
Liv groaned and arched her neck back as she felt the Sheikh swing her leg across his shoulder and drive his tongue so deep into her pussy she couldn’t understand it. She came again, screami
ng as the Sheikh’s strong hands parted her rear cheeks and fingered her crack from behind, pushing his middle finger into her asshole just as that second climax hit.
It felt so filthy, so wrong, so perfect that she reached down and clawed at his head, grinding her crotch into his face as he rolled his tongue inside her vagina, curled his finger inside her rear, breathed deep and heavy within her coarse brown curls that were matted with wetness.
She was still coming when he pulled his face away, stood and grabbed her by the hair again, dragged her to the floor and flipped her over. He pushed her face to the old oak floorboards as she raised her ass for him, and she screamed as he spanked her bottom so hard the slaps rang out like gunshots, the sounds ricocheting off the empty walls as the beautiful pain whipped her into a frenzy that made her cough and sputter.
“I want to put myself into you,” he growled, spreading her asscheeks wide apart, licking her rear pucker until she felt his saliva roll down her crack, mixing with the juices flowing down her inner thighs. Their combined scent was heavy in the air, and she could feel him unbuckling, hear him unzipping, sense his cock being released as he circled her rear hole with his thumb.
He smacked her ass again as she felt his shaft snap up between her legs from behind, and she bent her head and glanced down past her hanging breasts to make sure she wasn’t imagining things. No, she wasn’t. His cock really was as thick as what she felt, its shaft looking like a pillar of dark granite in the fading light, its head glowing like a beacon as it oozed with fresh natural oil from its singular eye.
The Sheikh moved his shaft along her slit from beneath as Liv watched, the sight and sensation almost making her come again as she watched his cock get coated with the wetness from her cunt. She was secreting so much she could see the drops gathering into beads and rolling down his shaft, coating his heavy balls before dripping onto the floor.
Haunted for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 15) Page 6